Quidditch Through the Ages
by avis1765
Summary: A short story of one of Hogwarts's most ancient traditions, made better by our favourite Marauders.
**Quidditch Through the Ages**

 _ **A/N: This is a fun little one-shot prompted by some ladies in my favourite Potter-themed Facebook page and inspired by a Tumblr post. I dedicate this to you, my fellow Wandlorians! There are a few nods in here to various things so let me know if you catch them. Hope you enjoy! -Gold**_

 **August 31st, 2015**

 **"Dad, what if I'm a Hufflepuff?" a small voice proposed.**

 **Harry Potter looked up from the mound of parchment rolls strewn across the desk in his study, finding his eldest son gazing nervously upon him. Harry slowly placed his inked quill down and gestured for the child to take a seat across from him.**

 **"James, your mum and I have told you the same thing every time you try to predict your House; You'll make a fine addition no matter where you end up being Sorted. Besides,** _ **Teddy**_ **is a Hufflepuff. Is he so bad?"**

 **"No. Teddy is...** _ **Teddy**_ **. But that doesn't change the fact that the Hufflepuffs are the arse of just about every House-related joke," James muttered with a dramatic roll of his vivid green eyes.**

 **"Shhh!" Harry hissed, his spectacled eyes looking cautiously past James to make sure there wasn't a fiery redhead —or even a bushy-haired brunette— charging at the pair to scold them; James for the language, Harry for the passive condonation. "Don't let your mum hear you talking like that! Listen, people aren't like that—at least anymore. There are House rivalries, sure, but there is also a deep unity between them—and there is nothing wrong with Hufflepuff. I had some amazing times with students from** _ **every**_ **House."**

 **When the boy still gazed anxiously at his thumbs, Harry went on. "Do you want to hear a story, son?" he sighed.**

 **James's ears perked at the suggestion of hearing the rare tale of his father's adventures at Hogwarts. "I'm listening," the boy grinned.**

 **Harry shifted in his chair and absentmindedly adjusted his glasses. He then cleared his throat, and began...**

 **September 17th, 1993**

It was the third Friday of term and excitement was hanging palpably in the air of the Great Hall as the Hogwarts Quidditch players were buzzing (albeit somewhat subtly) over the evening's plan between each of the House Quidditch Teams.

Tryouts for each House were the week before, and like their ancestors before them, this year's players were preparing for what had started out generations ago as an initiation of sorts. Nowadays, nights like these happened as provoked throughout the year. Nobody could tell you exactly how it started, but it was simply a tradition passed on from Captain to Captain.

Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor team was passing on the information for the night's match. Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson, Harry Potter, and the Weasley twins were listening closely. Ron Weasley and Lee Jordan were looking on in excitement. All were preparing for Wood's inevitable 'Final-Year-And-Last-Chance-At-The-Cup' speech when a bookish third-year girl appeared, interrupting.

"You know, you're going to get caught one of these times," Hermione Granger said haughtily as she plopped down beside the small huddle of whispering Gryffindors at the breakfast table.

"Hermione, when are you going to learn to have fun?" Ron scoffed, obviously still bitter about the girl's cat attacking his pet rat earlier in the Gryffindor common room and was seizing the chance to be ugly toward her.

She rolled her eyes and laughed mockingly. "I _do_ know how to have fun, _Ronald_. I just don't particularly enjoy trading House Points for detention. And with that Sirius Black on the loose, this is an _especially_ bad idea. McGonagall will have you all hung from the Entrance Hall ceiling."

"McGonagall can do as she pleases, so long as Harry catches the Snitch first," Oliver said plainly, "Although, I don't think she would want the task of replacing us for the season. She's quite shattered over Snape and his monotonous gloating about the Cup."

"If you're so concerned, why don't you come out and keep Harry safe, Hermione?" Fred suggested. 

"Yeah," George agreed, "Actually, Lee here has to spend some time with Filch tonight."

"Polishing trophies," Fred grinned.

"Right troublemaker, this one," George said, nudging Lee playfully with his elbow. The boy in question raised his chin proudly and puffed out his chest. 

"And we'll need someone to keep proper score of course," Fred concluded. 

Hermione stared at the twins incredulously. "You think _I_ would sneak out? For _Quidditch_ of all things? _"_ she gaped.

"For _Harry_!" George corrected, raising a solitary finger into the air. 

"Come on, Hermione. It's not as if you haven't done it before," Fred chided.

" _ **Wait, Dad!"**_ **James exclaimed,** _ **"**_ **Aunt Hermione** _ **snuck out?"**_

" **Oh** _ **, loads**_ **of times, Jamie," Harry chuckled.**

" _ **AHEM,"**_ **a throat cleared from the doorway, "Only because your father was always getting himself into trouble. Honestly, Harry! Don't have my godson thinking I was anything less than a model pupil."**

" **Sorry, Hermione. Didn't see you there," he lied.**

 **The young Potter boy grinned as his aunt approached them.**

" **I was just leaving. We'll see you all at the Platform tomorrow. Your cousins want to see you off, James," she smiled warmly, kissed her nephew on the forehead, and walked back toward the door.**

" **See you!" the two Potters said in unison as the witch disappeared.**

" **Back to my story!" Harry insisted, "Where was I…Oh yes, I remember now!"**

Now Hermione was pointedly ignoring Fred and George, spooning porridge into a bowl set before her and pouring herself a small glass of pumpkin juice.

"All right. So, scorekeeper is sorted," Oliver confirmed aloud, grabbing his books and standing from behind the table. "See you lot tonight! We'd better win this one," he threatened, shooting a glance to the Ravenclaw table, then walking toward the doors to the Great Hall and disappearing around the corner.

" _See_ , Hermione. We _need_ Harry," George chuckled

"If we don't win, we'll send poor Ollie into a tizzy," Fred whispered solemnly.

Alicia, Katie, and Angelina let their giggles free at the thought of Oliver's state if their Seeker skived off in order to ease Granger's worries.

"Don't want that do we?" George prodded.

"Don't listen to her," Ron dismissed confidently, "Harry will be there. Hermione too. She'll change her mind."

"Hermione, I'll be okay," Harry reassured her whilst trying to diffuse the brewing situation between his two best friends. "You should come along just in case though," he winked.

"Why can't Ron be your scorekeeper?" she groaned, "He seems enthusiastic enough."

"You think Ickle Ronniekins can do that sort of math?" Fred asked as if Hermione was being completely outlandish.

"You're sure giving him more credit than he's worth," George agreed. Ron's ears flushed a bold shade of magenta.

"Honestly, four teams playing at once is difficult to keep track of. We could use all the brains we can get," Katie reasoned with the younger witch, "I really don't want to have to stop the match because Oliver constantly feels the need to argue the score."

"I'm just thankful we got Ravenclaw tonight," Alicia quipped.

"Last year we played with Slytherin against Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," Angelina said, answering Hermione's unspoken question, "Fred and George ended up getting into a brawl with the Slytherin Beaters. Did I mention we were playing on the _same side_? Because it wasn't clear to Gred and Forge here."

"Bats were flying every which way!" Katie giggled.

"Bludgers hitting _the rest of us_ …" Alicia sneered at the twins, "All the injuries almost got us caught. Oliver was rocking back and forth in a corner of the Hufflepuff Common Room for hours, fretting that we wouldn't be able to play in the _actual_ game because we were all so banged up."

"It was magical," Fred and George both sighed, a twinkle in each of their eyes as they rested their chins on their hands, gazing dreamily off into the distance.

 **Later That Night…**

The pyjama-clad Gryffindor team gathered in the common room at half past ten with a few extra students in tow.

" _That's_ what you're wearing?" Hermione asked, tightening her scarf around her neck and smoothing the front of her coat, "Wouldn't it be easier—not to mention common sense—to at least wear your proper uniforms to help sort out the sides?"

"Tradition," Wood grumbled, tightening the golden string around his waist that was connected to his navy coloured Puddlemere United pyjamas.

For lacking a basic uniform, they all dressed approximately the same; warm flannel bottoms and ragged jumpers with dirty old trainers and plimsolls. If the other teams would just do the same, Hermione might have a chance at not buggering up the scoring.

The sound of whispers and giggles followed them on their way out of the castle. Thankfully, the residents of the school's paintings were in on the fun and would sneak ahead and warn of roaming professors or heckle them into distraction. So long as they avoided Peeves, they were safe.

Arriving outside the pitch, there was a crowd of teams and a few students were working on the stubborn lock to gain entry. Fred and George stepped forward to try their expert hand.

Much to Hermione's joy, the teams all did seem to subconsciously coordinate; the Ravenclaws in various forms of blue flannelettes, and the Slytherin team in expensive-looking (and horrendously impractical) monogrammed silk pyjamas—paired with only the finest dragon-hide loafers of course. Lastly her eyes fell upon the Hufflepuffs, the majority donning colourful mismatched clothing that complimented their smiling yet determined faces.

"Are you sure you want to be out here, what with all of the dementors, Potter?" Draco Malfoy asked, taking a large bite of a green apple and glancing up at the darkened night sky. Hermione and the Gryffindor team glared at the Slytherin, while even in darkness, the reddening of Ron's face was as noticeable as the cracking of his angrily clutched fists.

"Are you sure you want to be out here what with all those horrible silk pyjamas, Malfoy?" Harry asked innocently, gesturing to the Slytherins and earning giggles from various onlookers.

" _Tradition_ , Potter," Malfoy spat before taking another bite of his fruit and turning away as the opening to the pitch was finally unlocked thanks to the talent of two ginger-haired twins.

Before Harry could follow with the rest of the players, Hermione grabbed hold of his sleeve. "Are you sure you should be doing this? What withBlack on the loose _,_ " she said, quoting Malfoy, "It's not too late to go back to the castle," she pleaded.

"I'm positive. Hermione, you're good on feelings and stuff, but you just don't understand about Quidditch. It's tradition," he quipped, and then he was off before he had the chance to see the massive eye-roll he had earned.

Ron pulled Hermione away and together they began to ascend the stands behind the handful of other spectating students from each House. When they had finally reached the top and took a look around she almost jumped out of her skin at the sight of a teacher staring back at them from across the pitch. Alas, it was only a smiling—and excitedly waving—Hagrid, with a homemade scarf that bore each House's colours wrapped tightly around his massive neck.

"Move over, scorekeepers are here!" Ron announced to Colin Creevey, who had positioned himself to be sitting behind the score box. With a flash of his camera, he scootched over but before he could start rattling off about the famous Harry Potter, Ron held his hand up to silence him. "Rather busy tonight Colin!" he said, "It's a difficult job but someone's got to do it," he finished, shrugging his shoulders cooly. If the night continued like this Hermione's eyes might even end up stuck in some sort of wonky position, as her dad had told her they would when she was particularly cheeky as a child.

"Is that Neville?" Hermione asked, pointing down to the centre of the pitch as players started to line up on their broomsticks.

"Looks to be," Ron answered, "I'll bet he's starting the match."

"Ronald, are you telling me _Neville_ is going to be refereeing?" Hermione hissed, "Who would think that to be a good idea? He's not much of a flyer."

"Calm down, 'Mione. Do you see a broom in his hand? There is no ref," Ron stated plainly.

"WHAT?" she shrieked, "Are we really going to trust someone like Malfoy to play cleanly?"

"Be quiet, Hermione. It'll be fine," the Weasley insisted, "Are you trying to get us all caught with all your squawking?"

She managed a glare before leaning toward him slowly, pinching him on the arm. He squealed in surprise.

"Hush, Ronald!" she chided, "Are you trying to get us caught with all your _squawking_?"

He sneered as the seventh-years rose into the air and circled the perimeter of the pitch, presumably placing silencing charms to prevent anyone at the castle overhearing their game…or any squawking.

" _Tradition_ ," Ron sighed dreamily, smiling at the activity before him.

"Oh Gods, not you too," Hermione whimpered to herself.

The remaining earthbound players took to their brooms and fell into position about five metres from the ground; the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs hovered, dangerously staring down the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor team. They were quickly met in the air by the seventh-years, having finished securing any possible noise from escaping to the school. Oliver Wood was getting particularly amped up as Fred and George looked to each other and laughed and the Ravenclaws rolled their eyes.

The four Captains—Roger Davies, Oliver Wood, Marcus Flint, and Cedric Diggory—flew forward to shake hands, then as they regained their formation, Neville bent to the two chests before him and extracted a golden Snitch from each one. He released them into the air and returned to the chests. He ducked as he released four Bludgers that whizzed past the players and skyrocketed into space.

In the time that they had before the Bludgers returned to chase the lot around the pitch, Neville grasped a red Quaffle in each hand. He tossed them both into the air as he blew a whistle, sounding the beginning of the match. One Quaffle was quickly intercepted by Marcus Flint, but the one tossed up with the third-year's left hand didn't quite rise so high in the air. He tried to duck but in true Neville fashion, it crashed down—hitting him square in the head.

Young Longbottom rubbed the spot and muttered, "Why is it always me?"

He then tossed the Quaffle back up to the circling Chasers and made for the stands as quickly as he could, before he would have the odd chance at being pelted by a Bludger. He climbed the stairs and squeezed silently in between Ron and Colin.

"All right, Neville?" Ron asked.

"Yeah. Just happy it wasn't worse, Gran would have thrown a fit," he smiled.

" **Wait, dad," James interrupted, "Why are there double the balls? That's a bit silly."**

" **Five-hundred years of any tradition gets a bit boring, don't you think?" Harry smiled warmly at his son. The young Potter nodded and his father continued…**

Avidly trying to keep track of the twenty-one players, eight balls, and four bats, Hermione almost did not notice when someone sat beside her.

"Professor Lupin," she announced suddenly, eyes bulging as she began to stutter out an excuse as to why she was there.

"So, what's the score?" Remus asked casually, pulling a chocolate bar from his pocket and breaking a piece off before popping it into his mouth.

"Wha—We're not in trouble?" Hermione asked.

"Honestly, Hermione! If the man doesn't want scold us, don't make him feel obligated to," Ron hissed into her ear.

"Of course you're not in trouble, Miss Granger! After all, this is a Hogwarts tradition. It's the one night everyone plays without enemies. Who do you think added on the ridiculous extra balls, anyhow? Now the score, if you will?" Lupin said.

"Thirty to Twenty, Team GryffinClaw, Professor," Ron replied.

"Ah! Good to hear, Mister Weasley," Remus smiled.

"Professor," Hermione began, "Did you say you were on the team?"

"Oh, me? Heavens no! My two best friends were though. I watched this scrimmage every year for six years," he sighed, "One of them is the reason for those ridiculous extra balls."

"What is the purpose for them exactly?" she asked, "I feel like we'll be here all night."

"Well, five-hundred years of any tradition gets a bit boring, don't you think?" he grinned, leaving Hermione to blush. He looked off sadly into the distance, "But actually, that friend was quite the Casanova and thought he would throw in the extra Bludgers to impress the witches in attendance and possibly get our other friend a chance with his childhood love-interest. Then, the student who was releasing the balls— I believe his name was Peter—accidentally released all of them…and the rest is history."

" **Was Uncle Remus talking about who I think he was talking about?" James asked his father excitedly.**

" **Yes! The very two people you are named after," Harry smirked, "Rumour has it my dad ended up in hospital for a week afterward. But your grandmother went to visit him every day so it seems Uncle Sirius could have written that off as a win. Even though they lost miserably."**

Harry flew quickly up along the stands where Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Professor Lupin were sitting, before shooting across the width of the pitch, dodging a Bludger hit by a Hufflepuff Beater called Anthony Rickett. In the distance he could hear Wood's hoarse voice shouting out fouls. "Haversacking; Slytherin! Stooging; Slytherin!" he yelled at Flint, Montague, and Warrington.

Harry seized the opportunity to catch both Draco Malfoy and Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory's eyes as he pointed his broom toward the ground and pushed forward. Lowering his body against the wood, he dashed toward the ground in attempt of a perfect Wronsky Feint. The other two quickly followed, thinking Potter had spotted a Snitch, which left Ravenclaw Seeker, Cho Chang to find an _actual_ Snitch.

It seemed Cedric caught on to Harry's trickery seeing as he pulled up from the ground just as Potter did. Malfoy managed to only make it down to about fifteen metres above ground before almost slipping from his broom due to his silken clothing.

Oliver blocked a Quaffle from entering one of his beloved hoops with a well-timed Starfish and Stick before turning his attention toward the blond Seeker struggling to climb back on his broom. "Don't you think it's about time you Slytherins abandon the silk pyjamas?" he proposed.

Malfoy sneered and George Weasley flew forward, hitting a Bludger away from Oliver spouting, "They're tradition, Wood!"

Fred Weasley flew up beside Draco and with his bat-less hand, reached forward to playfully tickle the Malfoy boy's chin. "Don't worry, young Snake! We'll defend your honour," he recited heroically before lowering his voice to a whisper, "Oliver said we needed to prove we were truly sorry for last year and be the better men, so I guess that makes you the damsel in distress." He jovially nudged the Slytherin with his elbow and then he was off to high-five his twin.

In that moment, Graham Montague and Heidi Macavoy appeared before Oliver and the Ravenclaw Keeper, Grant Page, both sporting red Quaffles. Merlin only knew how they did it, but both balls made it through golden goal hoops, causing Wood to make a rather unearthly sound as he and Grant collided in a too-late attempt to block.

"The score is now Forty to Thirty, with Team Pygmy Puff—er, SlytherPuff I mean, in the lead," Ron's voice boomed, his wand poking a little too hard into his neck.

Hermione swatted him on the arm. "You're ruining my concentration! Stop it with those horrible names," she scolded before pausing in thought, "Where did you learn that spell anyway?"

Ron hesitated, "I looked it up…for tonight. Thought I'd give it a go."

"Look!" Professor Lupin interrupted, pointing with each hand in opposite directions at two figures.

Harry Potter was chasing after a Snitch with Draco Malfoy on his tail. Cedric Diggory was going after one as well on the opposite side of the pitch, with Cho Chang following close behind.

Remus, Ron, Neville, and even Hermione rose to their feet in excitement and began cheering for Harry as Colin slipped away.

Cedric wrapped his fingers around the little, golden, winged ball. He rose his arm into the air, wielding their win, as Harry, unbeknownst to the end of the game, leapt from his broom like a true Gryffindor, snatching the other Snitch from the air. He landed on the ground with a dull thud that almost gave Oliver a heart attack. Draco was shouting proudly about their win as he landed beside a confused Potter.

"Looks like you weren't fast enough, Scarhead," Malfoy sneered, before breaking out into a genuine smile.

"Whoops!" Harry laughed, letting his hands fall to his lap.

Draco froze, feigning a fresh sneer, "Did you just call me a _wuss_?"

"No! I said _whoops,_ "Harry swore.

Then Draco did something even more so out of character; he pulled Harry up from the ground and clapped him on the back. A camera flashed and he grinned before walking toward a cheering crowd of silk.

Somewhere in the stands above them, a tabby cat—an Animagus—watched proudly, savouring in the tradition.

The students snuck back into the castle and down to the basement to the Hufflepuff common room, unknowingly being herded along with the Gryffindor Headmistress just behind them. This was Minerva's way to secretly keep them from trouble if Professor Snape happened to fancy a stroll to the kitchens that evening and the paintings failed to catch him in time. Seeing the last head disappear into the Badger Den, she retreated to her chambers.

Inside the yellow and black fortress were long tables draped in cloths that resembled Hagrid's scarf in colouring. House-elves were present from the nearby kitchens, snapping their fingers to lower food to the tables. One of these elves was a familiar elf, called Dobby. He was wearing Quidditch goggles and an oversized tea-towel that had 'Potter' and a '7' scrawled across the front as if it were a jersey. As the children tucked in to the various foods prepared just for this occasion, he approached one Harry James Potter.

"What a beautiful place to be with friends," the elf smiled brightly.

" **That was a good story, Dad. Well, I have to admit, I believed you till that Malfoy bit. With the way Uncle Ron speaks of him there's no way this is true." James said confidently.**

" **Are you so certain?" Harry countered, leaning back in his chair, pulling open a desk drawer and rifling through it. "Ah, I've found it!" he exclaimed, flourishing a tattered old moving photograph and passing it to his son.**

 **Sure enough, Draco Malfoy was seen breaking into a smile, pulling Harry Potter to his feet and clapping him on the shoulder before the image looped again.**

 **James Sirius's expression faltered, then he smiled up at his father, " Thanks, Dad."**


End file.
